Chapter 2

He fell back only a few steps, and put his hands up nonthreateningly. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said simply.

"You're a skeleton," she hissed at him.

"I am." He was matter of fact. "I need to disappear, I think."

"No!" She cried, grabbing at his arm before he could leave. "You can't just leave, the police-"

"Will see me, yes."

"You have a gun."

"And a licence," he shrugged.

"My phone," she struggled to say, feeling like she absolutely had to keep him here – he had succeeded at what she never had before. He had saved her from that man. "It's on to the police, they probably heard you."

He sagged. "I need to make a quick call."

She stepped back, fairly confident he would stay, and called out to the four policemen when they came into the house, rushing over to the smouldering, still man. They came upstairs and it was a whirlwind of activity, her being pulled to sit down downstairs, medics coming to look at her and the man, the tall man staying close to her at her request. At some point a hippy looking man came in and started talking to officers, and some ten minutes later, they were packing up and leaving, and two black vans turned up.

Out of them, people in grey uniforms and scythes on their backs filed out.

"What the fuck," Stephanie whispered.

The tall man went to step out of the room to greet them, but she grabbed his arm and urgently pulled him into the kitchen. She slammed the door closed.

"What's going on?" She demanded.

"Hum? Oh, the Cleavers? They're just here to take over from the police, it's military."

"I was in the military," she told him coldly, "and I know you're lying. Tell me what's happening."

He hesitated. "I can't tell you. In fact, you're not going to remember this."

She crossed her arms. "You plan on killing me?"

"No, no, nothing like that," he denied. "Just wiping your memory."

"Well," she said, "it won't matter if you explain this all to me, will it?"

He nodded once. "Alright. Magic is real, I am a skeleton, and that man could turn himself to fire."

"Is he dead?" She asked simply.

"Yes."

"You killed him."

"Yes."

"How'd you get away with it?"

He shrugged again. "I didn't say anything until the Sensitives turned up, and they convinced the police that nothing ever happened and to leave."

"Sensitives?"

"People with psychic powers."

"And you're a living skeleton. How does that work?" Honestly, if she hadn't seen he was a skeleton, she'd have found some scientific explanation to explain this all away on.

"That's magic too."

She looked at him.

"Magic's pretty handy."

She sighed deeply and rubbed a hand over her face. "Were you really a friend of Gordon's?"

"Yes, he knew all about magic. We went on cases quite a lot, you know, and he'd ask all sorts of difficult questions and get me into all sorts of fights."

"How can you talk? You move your mouth when you speak, but you've got no tongue, you've got no lips, you've got no vocal cords. I mean, I know what skeletons look like, and the only things that hold them together are flesh and skin and ligaments, so why don't you just fall apart?"

He shrugs. "Magic. I don't know what else you expect me to say."

"Fucking hell," she muttered. "Are you even alive?"

"Well, technically, no, but..."

She peered into his empty eye sockets. "Do you have a brain?"

He laughed. "I don't have a brain, I don't have any organs, but I have a consciousness. To be honest with you, it's not even my head."

That completely took her off guard, perhaps more than anything else had that day. "What?"

"It's not. They ran away with my skull. I won this one in a poker game."

"That's not even yours? How does it feel?"

"It'll do. It'll do until I finally get around to getting my own head back. You look faintly disgusted."

"It's incredibly gross. I just... Doesn't it feel weird? It'd be like wearing someone else's socks."

"You get used to it."

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Were you born like this?"

"No, I was born perfectly normal. Skin, organs, the whole shebang. Even had a face that wasn't too bad to look at, if I do say so myself."

"So what happened?"

Skulduggery leaned against the worktop, arms folded across his chest. "I got into magic. Back then - back when I was, for want of a better term, alive - there was a man, called Mevolent, who wanted to take over the magical world and enslave all non-magical people. It was a secret war, but war nonetheless. Eventually, after years of fighting this little war of ours, we were actually winning. His support was crumbling, his influence was fading, and he was staring defeat in the face. So he ordered one last, desperate strike against all the leaders on our side."

Stephanie stared at him, lost in his voice.

"I went up against his right-hand man who had laid out a wickedly exquisite trap. I didn't suspect a thing until it was too late. So I died. He killed me. The twenty-third of October it was, when my heart stopped beating. Once I was dead, they stuck my body up on a pike and burned it for all to see. They used me as a warning - they used the bodies of all the leaders they had killed as warnings - and, to my utter horror, it worked."

"You were an important figure, then?"

"I was. The tide turned. Our side started losing ground. Mevolent got stronger. It was more than I could stand, so I came back."

"You just... came back?"

"It's... complicated. When I died, I never moved on. Something was holding me here, making me watch. I've never heard of it happening before that and I haven't heard of it happening since, but it happened to me. So when it got too much, I woke up, a bag of bones. Literally. They had gathered up my bones and put them in a bag and thrown the bag into a river. So that was a marvellous new experience right there."

"Then what happened?"

"I put myself back together, which was rather painful, then climbed out of the river and re-joined the fight, and in the end, we won. So, with Mevolent defeated, I quit that whole scene and struck out on my own for the first time in a few hundred years."

Stephanie blinked. "Few hundred?"

"It was a long war."

She licked her lips and crossed her arms. "So how does that, and you, fit into that guy attacking me?"

"Well, that's the big question. I got a tip off someone was trying to locate something of Gordon's so I kept an eye on you as I knew it was only a matter of time before you moved into his old place and someone showed up at your door. As you were his favourite niece, I thought it only right that I kept you out of danger."

She grunted. "Thanks, I guess."

He shrugged in a way she took to mean 'Don't worry about it'. "I expect you could have handled it if you were in the military."

She grimaced and didn't comment on that. "Are you going to find out who he was?"

"Yes," he said, taking out his pocket watch and jerking his head back. "Wow, look at the time. I've got to go, Stephanie."

"Go? Where?"

"To find out who he was, of course, and then who sent him."

"Alright."

He nodded. "The Sensitives will want to talk to you."

She smirked at him. "Oh no. See, if he attacked me, and wants something of mine, it's clearly my business. As such, I'm in on this."

Skulduggery froze. "That," he said eventually, "wouldn't be too safe for you."

"I'm aware."

"You nearly had a panic attack when you were attacked earlier, and you have burn wounds."

She waved his concern away. "That's because I wasn't expecting it and I was alone. I'll be with you now, so there's no problem."

"Skulduggery," she said overly sweetly, sauntering towards him, "you saved my life tonight. Are you going to undo all that effort by leaving me here so someone else can come along and just kill me?"

She was pressed up against him, pushing him into the counter. He didn't seem at all fazed. "That's a very defeatist attitude you've got there. I once knew a fellow, a little older than you. He wanted to join me in my adventures, wanted to solve mysteries that beggared belief. He kept asking, kept on at me about it. He finally proved himself, after a long time, and we became partners."

"Wonderful, I'll be taking his place then," she smiled, stepping back. "Come on, no time to lose."

There was a sigh from behind her, and then he followed her out.

Stephanie led him out of the house, not giving anyone around her any mind as they cleaned up the bloody scene. The Sensitive, whoever he was, never tried to intercept her, and outside she waited for the skeleton. He led her to a very fancy, old car.

He explained, as they got in, that it was a Bentley, and had all sorts of features. She absorbed it all eagerly – she'd once thought about becoming a mechanical engineer and knew a good bit about cars even if she wasn't at all qualified – and they rolled out of the estate.

Skulduggery was clearly a regular visitor of her uncles as he knew all the little nooks and crannies. They passed a sign for Haggard, and she was incredibly happy she'd moved out. If that man had come looking for her at her parents' home, who knew what could have happened?

"Where are we going?" She asked as they drove on.

"To my home. You need medical attention and my usual means of getting information is unfortunately avoiding me, so I need to send one of my partners after her," he explained.

She accepted that, though she had a hundred questions she wanted to ask about it. Instead, she focused on magic, which was a much bigger bag of worms in her books. "Magic. How does it work?"

He glanced at her. "That's a question you're better asking my informant. She owns a library, you see, so she could give you books on it."

"I don't want to read, I want you to tell me."

He sighed. "it's very complicated."

"You don't know, do you?"

"Of course I do, I just don't want to get into it when you know literally nothing about anything."

She glared at him. "I don't know about magic, I know a lot of other things."

He nodded quickly. "That's what I meant."

"Don't act like you're better than me, Mr Pleasant. You might have a few years on me, but I don't react well to condescending assholes."

"It was bad phrasing," he defended. "I meant nothing by it."

She grunted and watched the world go by, wondering where they were going. They were going inland, she knew, towards the centre of Ireland, passing a village called Kilure and turning off down a dirty, broken road she'd certainly never been down.

They came on a small town or village, dirty and broken enough that she figured it could only be a council estate. She saw an elderly lady wrapped in shawls shuffling on the streets, and a ginger cat sitting on a wall. Apart from that, there was no movement besides the litter.

Skulduggery parked the Bentley on the side of the street. "We're here."

She got out with him and followed him down the crumbling street. There were a surprising amount of cars down here compared to the main street, and some of them were quite nice. Others, not so much. "What are they like? Your partners?"

"They're good people," he replied. "They've been together for over a hundred years. I'm not sure who's here right now, but I suspect Ghastly will be."

"I'm sorry, Ghastly? Is that a codename?"

"It's his real name."

"Did his parents hate him?"

"In our world, we name ourselves to keep our souls protected. If we didn't and someone found out or Chosen Name – that's the one that's chosen for us by our parents at birth – someone could control us with ease. By using a Taken Name, one we take ourselves, we protect ourselves from that."

"Ah. Useful."

"Immensely. Fair warning, Ghastly named himself that for a reason. I say this with love, he is the ugliest person you will ever meet," Skulduggery told her easily.

"Okay...?" She frowned, not entirely understanding.

It didn't seem to matter, as they were at a house door, and Skulduggery was letting himself in. Stephanie followed behind, curiously taking in the clean, well-furnished room within. It wasn't a house at all, but a tailoring shop. There was a pleasant smell, a mix of leather, cleaning detergent, cologne and tea. It felt homey and she immediately liked it.

Sitting at a desk towards the back of the room, was Ghastly. There was no one else it could possibly be, with those horrific scars running parallel down each side of his face and arms. He was broad and tall, looking up at her with grey eyes. He must have been tortured horrifically, methodically, for this to have happened to him. Her stomach rolled.

He stopped what he was doing and came to greet them.

"Skulduggery," he said, his voice warm and deep, moving in to hug him. "You brought someone?"

The two held each other for just a moment before Ghastly stepped back. "This is Gordon's niece. That tip I got was good, I got there just in time tonight."

Stephanie held her hand out, and Ghastly shook it. With what she hoped was a smile and not a grimace, she said, "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"And yourself. I'm so sorry for your loss, we all knew Gordon well," he told her. "I assume you're coming in."

"We are," Skulduggery said, and Ghastly led them into the back where they arrived in a kitchen-cross-dining room. The fridge-freezer was one of those giant American-style ones, and there were three massive ovens, two kettles, a six-slice toaster, and a table that looked as if it sat ten easily. This was clearly a meeting spot of sorts and involved several businesses in one. She supposed, since there were surely not that many hundreds of magical folk in Ireland, that combining several businesses in one building was the most efficient thing to do. Doubly so if Ghastly was also in on the detecting side of the business as well as tailoring. "Tea?"

"Please," Ghastly said. "Your friend is in her pyjamas."

Stephanie looked down at herself and remembered, very belatedly, that she was in an old ex-boyfriend's top and baggy cotton trousers. "Sorry. I was attacked an hour ago."

"Two hours, actually," Skulduggery corrected her, filling a kettle. Ghastly wiped over a spill on the counter with a cloth and threw it in the sink out of view. The entire place was very clean except for three used plates on the side, and the same amount of glasses and cutlery. Skulduggery clearly couldn't eat or drink, so that meant at least three of his colleagues were here.

She rolled her eyes at his correction.

"Let me get the burn salve," Ghastly said, "and some clothes."

"Thank you," she mumbled.

He came back as she was taking her first sips of the tea. She thanked him and went into a bathroom to change and use the ointment on her burns. It was oily, but instantly cooled the area and the persistent heat died away. She changed into a pair of blue jeans and a large green top that seemed stretched around the shoulders. Despite her own toned arms, this folded over her loosely. It was probably Ghastly's, looking at the size. Unless everyone else working with Skulduggery was as muscular as him.

When she came back, Ghastly and Skulduggery weren't all that waited for her. Sitting at the large table were two other men – one had short blonde hair, young and fit and healthy. He looked like he wasn't a day over thirty, if not in his late twenties. His jaw was squared but not so much that he looked like a Ken doll. He was likely one of the most handsome people she'd ever met. It was hard to look away from him to even glance at the man next to him. The other was sitting like he was a good bit shorter than herself, carrying a few extra pounds around the midsection, with an easy smile and laid-back vibe. He wasn't anything in comparison to his associate, with dark, fluffy hair and a few days' worth of stubble on his face but wasn't at all plain. Honestly, she was rather attracted to the two of them, though she was happy to admit she had no interest in Skulduggery now she knew he wasn't actually alive. Being dead was a turn off of sorts.

"Hi," she smiled, coming forward to shake both their hands. Both lingered on her skin.

"A pleasure," the dark haired man grinned, kissing the back of her hand.

The blonde barked a laugh and got up to hug her. "You're practically a family friend through Gordon," he said, holding her for just a moment before letting her go. "It's wonderful to finally meet you. We've heard so much."

She groaned jokingly. "Whatever he told you, I'm better than that."

Both men laughed.

"If you're better than he said you are, I'm extra glad to meet you," Dexter grinned, retaking his seat. "Sit with us. Come on, Skul, tell us what happened."

Stephanie listened and sipped on her tea as the other two men took their seats and Skulduggery retold the story for them. In the end, Ghastly stood.

"The proper attire is probably called for, if you're sticking this out." Ghastly took out a small pad, started jotting down notes. "Do you have a favorite color?"

"I'm sorry?"

"To wear. Any preference?"

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Not all of the clothes I make are merely examples of exquisite tailoring. Sometimes, if the situation arises, special requirements are catered for."

"Cocky," Saracen muttered under his breath, looking up at Ghastly from under his eyelashes.

"Such as keeping you safe until this whole thing is over," Skulduggery said. "Ghastly can make you a suit, nothing too formal, which could very possibly save your life."

"Fashion," said Ghastly with a shrug. "It's life or death." His pen was at the ready. "So, once more, do you have a favourite colour to wear?"

She sighed. She supposed she might as well put Gordon's money to good use. "Black, I suppose. Can't go wrong with that."

He nodded approvingly.

"What's the take?" Dexter, as he'd introduced himself, asked. He'd become incredibly serious once the story started.

"I'm not sure," Skulduggery admitted. "All my normal suspects have been taken out in recent years, so I'm inclined to think it's someone new."

"Couldn't they have just wanted his money?" Saracen asked.

"No," Stephanie shook her head. "He wanted a key. He specifically asked about it."

They fell into silence. Ghastly, after a moment, got up, putting a hand on Skulduggery's shoulder gently as he muttered finishing his project.

"Well, nothing's happening tonight," Dexter said, standing and stretching. "Let's get some sleep and do this in the morning."

"The case is fresh right now," Skulduggery pointed out.

"Unlike you, us we're livin' folks need sleep," he pointed out. "And she was in bed when she was attacked, so she's not getting any sleep at her house. You can start tomorrow."

Skulduggery muttered something she didn't catch, and Dexter led her out of the room. She followed, glad they were alone.

"So," she started, following him up the stairs. "Where will I be staying? I don't mind sharing."

He laughed loudly. "While I'd love to keep you for myself – honestly, I would – I'm not sure how the others would feel."

She shrugged, smirking as he stopped in the hallway. "Will they get jealous?"

He chuckled deep in his chest. She liked that. "Perhaps. We're used to sharing."

She paused for only a moment before grinning. "I can work with that."

He stepped in, a ghost of a touch over her body, his face leaning towards hers... and opened the door beside her. "Guest room. Bathrooms next door. I can wake you in the morning, if you like."

"Sure. Bring your friends, if you like."

He chuckled and left her, going back down the stairs. She bit her tongue annoyed she'd be left again. She was getting desperate now. Eight months of no sex, and she was in a house of men, seemingly single men, and none to take to bed even in their own home.

She tutted her tongue and set about getting ready for bed.